Ankles All the Way
by Dala1
Summary: Norrington and Elizabeth struggle to find their way within a marriage neither of them is quite prepared for. Jack and Will guest-star. UPDATED.
1. Breathe

Title: Ankles All the Way  
  
Author: Dala  
  
Rating: strong R for sexual situations, though not in this chapter  
  
Pairings: Elizabeth/Norrington, sideline Jack/Will  
  
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of this fanfic belong to Disney, etc. Making no profit.  
  
Author's Notes: I just had a crazy five-and-a-half hour writing spree, and this little fic is what came of it. More to come -- much more.  
  
Contains some spoilers for the deleted scenes, in case you haven't seen the DVD yet. The title in fact comes from my very favorite part of the blooper reel. The look on Jack Davenport's face continues to be priceless, every time I watch it, and I've got to be up in the hundreds by now.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
James Norrington was not a lucky man. Therefore he was having trouble understanding this conversation with Elizabeth Swann.  
  
"Commodore?" she inquired, tilting her gaze up at him with a wide-brimmed hat shielding her eyes from the sun.  
  
"I apologize, Miss Swann. Could you repeat that?"  
  
Biting her lower lip, she said, "I know I've no right to ask anything of you, but...your proposal, does it still stand?"  
  
That was what he thought she'd said. He had to put a hand on the battlement for support, feeling suddenly light-headed.  
  
"I know you haven't found anyone else – or not...officially," she continued delicately.  
  
"No," said Norrington faintly. "But surely...William Turner...?"  
  
At this she turned her head aside, gazing out to sea. He could not make out whatever emotion lurked behind the mask of her eyes. "Will is gone," she said softly. "To the Black Pearl. And before you can ask it," she added, facing him again with a clear defensive posture, "my father has nothing to do with this. He doesn't even know I've come here."  
  
Norrington found it difficult to meet her eyes when she was so clearly hiding something, but he tried nonetheless. He envied her ability to cover what she was feeling; he knew his every emotion showed on his face, in his body language, as it was doing now. His eyes would be anxious, his lips pressed tight together, his body leaning toward her with the smallest touch of hope.  
  
"You would marry me still?" he asked, unable to keep the lump in his throat from being audible in his voice.  
  
"If you would have me," she replied calmly.  
  
He couldn't quite help himself. "Why?"  
  
Her fingers toyed with the lace of her sleeve, the only outward sign of her discomfort. "We would make a good marriage," she said. It wasn't really an answer, at least not the one he was looking for, but he didn't press her. Elizabeth revealed herself to no one if she didn't want to.  
  
The thought suddenly occurred to him that Turner must have left for a reason, and that it no doubt had something to do with the reason she was now talking marriage with him. It was a scandalous thought, and he had no polite speech with which to express it. It had been three months since the disaster with Sparrow and the undead pirates, which would certainly be enough time to make her aware of her condition if she was indeed carrying Turner's child. There would be no way for him to know until the wedding night, and those little details were never more than whispered about in polite society...His inner monologue trailed off just after hitting 'wedding night.' Elizabeth, his wife, in his bed...  
  
He shook his head to clear it. There was a time and place for such thoughts, and this was not it. The question that needed asking was would it be worth it? The feelings he had for her – he had too little experience with love to dare call it that, though privately, he suspected that it ran as true and deep – would they suffice in a marriage of convenience? Could he raise another man's child as his own, never saying a word about it? Or, if that wasn't what prompted her boldness, then he would simply have to live out the rest of his life with a woman who didn't love him.  
  
What it came down to, really, was either the simple factor of him loving her enough for the both of them, or neither of them caring at all. He wasn't sure which option he favored at the moment; they were both severely depressing.  
  
But Elizabeth was looking at him, and now he could see something behind her careful sculpted blankness: pleading. All the will to refuse her left him immediately. In the end, her reason for agreeing to marry him didn't matter. There was nothing in him with the power to turn her away.  
  
"Then...I would be honored if you would be my wife," he said formally, extending an arm. She took it with the same sort of smile she had on the Dauntless, on the way to Isla de Muerta, as if she could start crying at any given moment.  
  
Norrington knew he had to learn to ignore looks like that, or he would only end up making them both very unhappy.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Don't make the mistake of thinking Elizabeth is a heartless bitch, by the way. She'll have her say at some point. 


	2. Have

(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter)  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
The next few weeks passed like a distant dream. Elizabeth wanted to marry as soon as possible and he agreed, still harboring a fear that this engagement would last hardly longer than the first. Before he knew it he was facing her in front of the altar, his wedding suit terribly stiff and uncomfortable, surrounded by what seemed like the entire population of the islands. She was beautiful in cream-colored linen and lace, and he could not keep love and wonderment from shining out of his eyes. He listened to the priest with half a ear, trying to gauge her emotions from her face. It revealed nothing; she smiled at him and blushed lightly as any young bride was wont to do. He had become quite adept at reading her, but her skill at farce had grown as well.  
  
The governor beamed at them both from the front row. Although he had consented to his daughter's involvement with the young blacksmith, everyone in Port Royal knew that he was speechless with joy that Elizabeth's affections had turned to the Commodore. In fact, the only times Elizabeth had seemed genuinely involved during the whirlwind preparations was when she reacted to her father's happiness.  
  
If she was doing this for him, Norrington reflected, that was a reason he could respect.  
  
He mumbled his vows and Elizabeth said hers in a clear, steady voice. He kissed her for the first time, in front of all those people. For all that it was a brief embrace, he tried to impart his feelings for her. He had only time enough to register that her lips were warm and soft before it was broken and they turned together to face the crowd.  
  
The reception was likewise a blur, Elizabeth now by his side and now at the other end of the room, laughing and chatting with their guests. As the afternoon dwindled into evening and the fort began to clear, a strange mixture of dread and excitement began churning in his stomach. Everything had happened so quickly, and he'd been so preoccupied with the fear that it would not go through, that he had spared very little thought for the wedding night.  
  
And now she was standing before him at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind her back, still in her expensive dress. One eyebrow was arched as if in question. She didn't look shy, but neither was she throwing herself into his arms.  
  
"Well, James," she said, the hint of suggestion in her low voice, "shall we go to bed?"  
  
He nodded, unable to speak. What little of his blood that hadn't fled south was flooding his face with color.  
  
Leaving the candle burning for the moment, he came to her and reached for the fastenings on her clothing, but the intricate buttonwork was too much for his unsteady hands. It was Elizabeth who undressed them both, leaving herself in just a shift and him in his drawers, and her fingers did not shake. She pulled the covers back and lay down, stretching a slender hand up to him. He blew out the lantern, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight that turned everything into shades of navy and silver. As he began to hesitantly caress her, she suddenly pushed him away and got to her feet.  
  
"Elizabeth, what –" he began, knowing that he had done something to upset her but having no idea what it was.  
  
She crossed to the window in quick, agitated little steps and pulled the curtains closed, shrouding the room in darkness.  
  
"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper, sounding nearer as she returned to bed. "It's just – the moonlight – I don't like to sleep under it..."  
  
"It's all right," he said as she slipped in beside him again, and they began where they had left off.  
  
Norrington was not a complete amateur. He had been dragged to enough port brothels in his early Navy days that a woman's body was not exactly a mystery to him – or so he'd thought, because when he braced himself above Elizabeth he found that things were very different. Those women had been seasoned whores, while she was soft and slim and not responding to his fumbling touches in the least. He had wanted her to enjoy this, knew that she could if it was done properly, but he had never expected to feel so oversized and clumsy. Presently he began to think that it would be best to just get it over with and spare her any further indignity.   
  
She made no sound, save for a small gasp as he entered her and knew that his fears about the intimacies she might have shared with Turner were unfounded. He paused, trembling, and asked her if she was all right. When she nodded, he still hesitated, and she murmured in a tight, strained voice, "I'm fine, James. You're not going to break me."  
  
He tried to move with her rather than against her, but the problem was that she wasn't moving at all. All the guilt he felt over the huge disappointment he was delivering to her could not put a stop to his body's reactions, however, and he found himself hovering at the edge rather sooner that he had anticipated. Even then he thought he might redeem himself; as he was coming he pressed his lips to her neck and whispered, "I love you, Elizabeth."  
  
It took him several seconds, as his breathing steadied, to realize that she had burst into tears.  
  
Quickly rolling to her side, he pulled her in close and tried to soothe her, accidentally bumping her nose because he couldn't actually see anything in the dark bedroom. She lay against him, her body stiff and unyielding.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said wildly, hearing the panic in his own voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"  
  
"No," Elizabeth gasped, "it's all right, I'm just...emotional..." She buried her head in his shoulder, but still would not relax in his arms.  
  
Thoughts tumbling through his head – this was a mistake, they could get it annulled, she could come up with some story that he beat her or was unfaithful and he'd let her go back to Turner on the Black Pearl – he heard himself saying frantically, "I won't say it again, I promise, I'll never say it again..."  
  
That stopped her tears. He could feel her eyes on him and wondered if she could see any better than he could.  
  
"Go...go to sleep," he managed, his own throat choked. He brushed her loose hair away from her face.  
  
For a moment it seemed she would speak, but then she sighed and shifted onto her back, her face turned away from him. "Goodnight, James." Her voice was under iron control once more.  
  
"Goodnight," he replied softly, wanting more than anything to draw her into his arms. He didn't, and she did not turn to him for comfort in her sleep – he knew, because he was awake for hours after she'd drifted off, twisting his wedding band around and around his finger.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
They're two lost little lambs, aren't they? But things, as they tend to do, will pick up. 


	3. Share

(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter)  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
The next several weeks saw no improvement, either in their bed or in the household. He worked more often than was necessary, sometimes skipping meals so that he wouldn't have to sit, uncomfortably silent, at the other end of the long dining table. She read every night before bed, but he wasn't sure what she did while he was gone; she had never been much for needlepoint and he had servants for cooking and mending clothing. Other than those womanly arts, he had no idea what could possibly be occupying her time. She was like a stranger in his house – in her *own* house, as it was now.  
  
He asked her one night at supper, his curiosity getting the best of him.  
  
"What do you do in the daytime?"  
  
She sipped her wine, fixing him with quizzical eyes. "Beg pardon?"  
  
"When I'm away," he clarified. "While I'm working. How do you spend your time?"  
  
"Why do you want to know?" she asked, with a hint of suspicion.   
  
With a shrug, he said, "I only wondered."  
  
Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she thought for a moment. "I read," she said. "I go for long walks along the coast."  
  
"That's very dangerous –" he began, but stopped when she rolled her eyes.  
  
"I take a pistol from your armory with me. I'll not be captured by pirates and brigands, never you worry."  
  
He was too surprised at this bit of information to take note of the bitter tone in her voice. He'd had no idea she could shoot, though now that she mentioned it, he seemed to remember that one of his guns was indeed in a slightly different place every day. He'd assumed it was due to the servants moving it while they were in to clean. "Anything else?"  
  
"Sometimes I ride," she continued. "I go to the market and wander the stalls. I sketch things, around the house or outside."  
  
"May I see your sketches?" he asked shyly. She considered it for a moment, clearly still half-suspecting some kind of trap, before she nodded and left the room to fetch them. Returning with a large leather book that smelled of lead and charcoal, she moved her dishes aside and spread it over the table. He crossed to her end and leaned over her shoulder, one hand on the back of her chair.  
  
There were small black and white sketches of plants, birds, objects around the house – Norrington was no expert on art, but she seemed to have a good sense of perspective and an appreciation for fine detail.  
  
"These are quite good," he said, meaning it. He was so intent on the pages rifling through her hands that he nearly missed her small, pleased smile.  
  
"Thank you." She turned another page and it was filled with sails, hanging lankly or puffed all the way out. "I was sitting at the docks and trying to catch how they're filled by the wind – see?" One short, well-kept nail pointed at the best one on the page. "It's more difficult than it looks." The next page startled him: it was a full portrait of a tall man with a scraggly beard and torn clothing. He looked haggard and menacing, large eyes glaring out of his skull.  
  
"That's Barbossa, former captain of the Pearl." She glanced up at him. "You never saw him, did you?" He shook his head and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Count yourself lucky. His breath was far more foul than his looks."  
  
Norrington laughed and her eyes brightened. They looked at each other and silently acknowledged the moment they were sharing, quite possibly the first of its kind. He leaned ever so slightly forward, inhaling the soft scent of her body rather than the floral perfume she sometimes wore. She smelled of fresh, expensive soap and salt air; must have been down to the harbor earlier, he thought. Before he could kiss her, she looked down at the sketchbook again. The room was so still he could hear her heart beating, a frightened fluttering like the wings of a trapped butterfly.  
  
He focused on her art again. The next few pages featured bones, some bare and some with small vestiges of flesh hanging gruesomely off. He remembered the sight well.  
  
"Getting them down on paper helps to keep them out of my head," she explained softly. He covered one of her hands in his own, squeezing her fingers gently and earning himself another honest smile.  
  
It disappeared, however, upon the turning of the next page, where Will Turner was sprawled across a wooden bench, sleeping peacefully with his hands steepled under his head. The graceful planes and curves of his body, his face, were more carefully rendered than anything previous.  
  
Elizabeth's cheeks reddened. "I was visiting him at the forge one day – he had been up working late the night before and he fell asleep while I was making lunch." Her fingertips brushed gently over the surface of the paper.  
  
Pain stabbed at him – no one who saw such a drawing could have any doubt that the artist loved her subject.  
  
She was peering at him anxiously. "James? Does it bother you?"  
  
"No," he said shakily, and then, more firmly and with a reassuring smile, "no, it doesn't. Have you any more?" He knew she didn't believe him, but she said nothing, instead showing him a couple of rough sketches of Jack Sparrow. One was a close-up of him laughing, eyes twinkling wickedly, one was a study of his intricate hair ornaments with the face left blank, and a third was a small full-length portrait, where he had his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
They were too detailed to have been drawn from memory; he could see that immediately. "He...he is your friend, isn't he?"  
  
Her voice and posture immediately stiffened. "I would say nothing to endanger him or his crew."  
  
"And I would never ask you to," he replied, hurt by the accusation.  
  
She relaxed a fraction, though her eyes were still guarded. "He's a good man," she said, looking out the window to the sea beyond Port Royal.  
  
"So I've heard," said Norrington, his tone light. She glanced at him sharply and he waggled his eyebrows to show he was joking. He knew it was difficult to recognize, as he didn't do it often.  
  
"A good friend," she added with a wistful sigh. " I'm glad Will is with him. That's where he belongs."  
  
It was on the tip of Norrington's tongue to ask her if it was where she belonged, too, but he bit his words back. Having to deny it would only hurt her, and he knew her answer already.  
  
Closing the book with a slap, she set it aside. "Our food is getting cold, and the lights are burning low."  
  
"Right," he said, knowing the moment was over and the impenetrable fortress inside her had put its walls back up. "Thank you for showing me."  
  
"You're welcome," she said, and though they finished the meal in customary silence, he thought her smile was less strained than usual.  
  
A few days later he woke in the middle of the night to soft yellow candlelight beside him. Elizabeth was sitting cross-legged in bed, one pencil caught between her teeth and another in her hand. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and the sketchbook was in her lap.  
  
"Don't move," she said around the utensil in her mouth. There was a dark streak across one cheek. "I've just gotten to your right arm and I need to work on my foreshortening."  
  
He could feel himself getting a crick in the neck from his current position, but he stayed still.  
  
"You look younger when you sleep, did you know that?" she asked, her eyes flitting from her paper to his arm and back again. "Most people do, of course, but the difference is really pronounced with you. It's like you've let go all that responsibility that sours your mouth in the daytime."  
  
"And maybe it's the lack of a wig," he said, trying not to move his lips too much.  
  
A grin quirked at the corner of her mouth. "Close your eyes," she ordered crossly. "You're supposed to be asleep."  
  
He couldn't catch a glimpse of the paper with the angle his head was at. "I don't get to see my own picture?"  
  
"When it's done," said Elizabeth. "Eyes closed, please." He obeyed without another word.  
  
Just as he was beginning to fall back asleep, she announced, "Finished."  
  
Stretching, he pushed himself up on his arms to look at the sketch she was holding. He was surprised to see that she was right – he did look much younger.  
  
"I like it," he declared. Elizabeth grinned and set the sketchbook aside. She blew out the candles she'd lit and tucked herself under the covers once more. Taking a deep breath for courage, he reached for her. She froze as he pulled her into his arms, and he hated himself for rousing that kind of reaction. He had no husband's purpose in mind; he only wanted to hold her for a time and pretend that she was his in more than name.  
  
As he made no other move, her muscles gradually lost their tension. Her arms settled around him as she tucked her head underneath his chin, and he kissed her hair lightly enough that she wouldn't feel it.  
  
"What made you want to draw me?" he asked.  
  
Her pale shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I was awake, and you were beautiful," she said simply. "It wasn't supposed to mean anything."  
  
His good spirits sagged and he knew she could feel it in his body.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, lifting her head.  
  
"For what?" he said thickly, his arms still around her.  
  
"I keep hurting you," she said in a tiny voice. "Even when I don't mean it. It isn't fair."  
  
"Hush," said Norrington quietly.  
  
"But –"  
  
His grip tightened. "Don't talk about it." He wasn't sure if it was a command or a request – a plea. "I made my choice, Elizabeth."  
  
Falling silent once more, she kissed him gently before laying her head back down on his chest. "You're right. I know you're right."  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
A Note About Norrington's Eyebrows: The Eyebrows, as they have come to be known amongst me and mine, are one of the most sublime moments in all of "Pirates of the Caribbean." If you have never noticed them before, check out the next-to-last scene, right after the line, "Oh, I think we can afford to give him one day's headstart, you stupid mook Gilette" (okay, maybe I fudged it a bit), and catch them. Right after that line. They are the Eyebrows. Blink and you'll miss them. I simply had to immortalize them here, because they have bewitched me time and again with their unexpected sexy power. I don't care if Norrington does nothing for you normally -- check out the Eyebrows and you will be changed forever. 


	4. Speak

(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter)  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Whatever accord they had come close to reaching that night, affairs returned to their normal state afterwards. Another two months slowly passed, as if something – or someone – was holding time fast, keeping it trapped beneath a jar.  
  
He noticed everything about her, though she didn't know it – what she ate, how she slept, when she bathed, the twists and coils of her upswept hair. When she began rising early in the morning and disappearing into the privy, it did not escape him. He pretended to be asleep when she would return, shivering, tears falling silently on her pillow. As more than a week passed and she still didn't tell him, he began to wonder how long he would be able to hide his knowledge.  
  
Internally, he was panicking. He knew he ought to be feeling the utmost joy and excitement, but it simply felt like too soon. They had been married for long enough, but they scarcely knew each other – it was getting better, day by day, but they were still virtual strangers to each other. By no stretch of the imagination were they ready to raise a child. And he worried, also, about his wife's health. While there was nothing physically wrong with her, she was young, and she seemed so small and delicate, and giving birth was dangerous for any woman. He began trying to get her to eat more.  
  
"Are you trying to make me fat and matronly?" she inquired of him one morning at breakfast as he was urging another scone on her. Her tone was light and teasing, but he didn't miss the sharpness of her eyes.  
  
"I am not," he replied doggedly. "It's just that healthy eating habits are very important. In the Caribbean," he added, feeling silly. "It's...the sun. Its extra power leeches away calories."  
  
Her fork dropped onto her plate with a clatter. "You know." She stared at him. "Don't you?"  
  
He sighed and said dully, "I know nothing that you haven't told me." She knew he was lying. He didn't care.  
  
"Then I shall tell you," said Elizabeth, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm going to have a baby."  
  
He had known, but hearing it from her quiet voice was something else entirely. Nearly knocking over his water glass, he crossed the room to kneel beside her chair and hug her. Her arms closed around him awkwardly and she rested her chin on the top of his head.  
  
"Please, Elizabeth," he murmured against her breast, "tell me you're happy about this." He drew back to look at her and she forced a watery smile onto her face.  
  
"Of course I am," she said. He pursed his lips, and her smile strengthened after a single waver. "I'm happy, James, I just feel a little ill in the mornings."  
  
He kissed her cheek, needing her assurance to reassure himself. He hadn't gotten it, and he didn't get it in the weeks that followed. They both watched as her body took on a softly swelling shape, nearly invisible when she was clothed. He would rest his hand on her bare flesh and try to feel ready to be a father to the child within her womb. Then they would look at each other, and look quickly away again.  
  
She went wandering the halls one night. He followed after a few minutes, finding her on the balcony in the third guest room, staring out at the sea. Her hands rested on the faint curve of her belly; she jumped as he came up behind her and covered them with his own.  
  
"I wish you would tell me what troubles you," he said.   
  
She turned, her eyes large and sad. "I would not know how to say it."  
  
"Try, please," he said, his voice a desperate whisper. "If we can't talk to each other..."  
  
Her tongue flickered out to wet her lips. "You'd think I'm a horrible person," she warned.  
  
"I could never do that. I swear it."  
  
Anger sparked in her face. He wasn't prepared for that, but if it got her to open up, he wouldn't complain.  
  
"Fine," she snapped. "You really want to know what's troubling me, James? What's constantly worrying me? It's a great fear about this child inside me. I'm absolutely terrified of my own unborn offspring!" Her voice had risen in a shout by the time she was done.  
  
Norrington blinked at her. "Thank God," he gasped. "I thought I was the only one!"  
  
Elizabeth stared at him with her mouth hanging open, looking nothing like the proper lady she normally resembled.  
  
"I don't know anything *about* babies," he continued, the opportunity to finally voice his fears making his words come out on a rush. "I've never been around them – I visited my cousin Mary's children in London, but they were five and seven the first time I ever saw them –"  
  
"How are you supposed to keep one clean?" Elizabeth demanded. "I would drown it if I tried to bathe it, I know I would!"  
  
"They cry all the time, and the smell –"  
  
"Can't go anywhere for fear the baby will need to be fed –"  
  
"We won't have a full night's sleep for a year –"  
  
"And I'll *never* get my figure back!" Elizabeth wailed, her fists clenching at her sides.  
  
Norrington couldn't help it; she looked so like the tragic maiden. He burst out laughing.  
  
She glared at him, offended, and planted her hands on her hips. That only made him laugh harder. Elizabeth gnawed on the insides of her cheeks, trying to hold onto her tantrum and fight off a grin, but it was a losing battle. She gave in with an ungainly splutter that only set him off again. They leaned onto each other for support, finally collapsing onto the stone bench in their twin fits of mirth.  
  
"A fine pair we make," he gasped out, when he could breathe normally again.  
  
Elizabeth giggled into her hand. "You – you're a mighty officer of the British navy with years of experience in battle, and I've fought undead pirates and helped defeat an ancient curse, and here we are, afraid of a nameless creature currently no bigger than a hen's egg."  
  
They looked at each other and the laughter died away. Elizabeth's eyes were serious again, Norrington saw, but they were also completely honest, and he was emboldened.  
  
"We're having a child, ready or not," she told him solemnly.  
  
"I know." He put an arm across her shoulders and she didn't flinch away. "And it is frightening, but...we'll make it through. Somehow."  
  
"Together," she added, half-hopeful and half-confident.  
  
He closed his eyes and kissed her temple with a reverence he hoped she could feel. "Always," he promised softly.  
  
"For better or for worse," she said in a sing-song voice. "As the priest had us recite."  
  
"Yes."  
  
They were quiet for a moment before she asked, "Any burdens you want to surrender, husband mine?"  
  
He hesitated and she prodded him in the ribs with a sharp finger. "Come on now, it'll make you feel better."  
  
"There is...one thing that concerns me," he admitted haltingly.  
  
"Speak."  
  
"When we make love," he explained in a quiet voice, "it's as though you aren't there at all." She went rigid in his arms and he knew she regretted asking. "Listen to me, Elizabeth," he begged as she turned her face away. It was too late to take it back now. "I – I want to please you, but I don't know how, and you won't help me."  
  
She looked down at her hands and then back up at him. That unfamiliar vulnerability was in her eyes and it made him achingly tender towards her, but he didn't dare touch her before she spoke. He knew the desire for flight still lurked within her, and he would do nothing to provoke it.  
  
"I hate not knowing things," she confessed, her voice breaking. "And I don't know what – what to *do*, when I'm with you, except lie there and be quiet, and so I just figure it isn't worth the trouble to even try."  
  
He leaned back against the balcony, berating himself for being an idiot. Of course she wouldn't have told him. That wasn't who Elizabeth was; she didn't admit her faults, and she didn't admit to ignorance. It was what made her so stubborn, and it was also what made her brave.  
  
"All this time," he muttered. "All this time, and it was a simple matter of refusing to learn from one another."  
  
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked.  
  
Standing up, he took her by the hand. She trotted behind him as he led the way back to their bedroom. Once there, he ignored the question in her eyes and lit the lantern on the night stand.  
  
"Tonight," he said resolutely, "we leave the light be."  
  
She sat down on the bed, still confused as he slid his hands under her nightshift. At her nervous glance to the lantern, he cupped her cheek in his hand and said, "I want to look at you."  
  
Swallowing, she nodded and lifted her arms over her head for him to pull the garment free. He lowered her gently onto the pillows and merely, as he had said, looked. The soft light shone on her skin, turning it to silken gold and casting shadows on the hollows of her body.   
  
Elizabeth shifted, uncomfortable under his frank gaze. "What?" she asked. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
Norrington shook his head. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, and she smiled, her lids dropping down over her eyes in pleased embarrassment. He lowered his mouth to her throat, one hand holding himself steady above her and the other tucking between her legs. She tensed, as she always did, and he stopped.  
  
"Relax," he coaxed gently. "This will never work if you can't relax."  
  
"I'm *trying*," she hissed. "It's easier said than done, with you sitting there looking at me like you're starving and I'm the world's largest, juiciest hunk of beef!"  
  
He choked on a laugh and kissed her, long and deep and well, until she was languid beneath him. He reached between her thighs again, and when she let him, he began to try out some of the techniques that crossed his mind late at night, while she was asleep beside him and he was dying to touch her.  
  
Her eyes flew open and her mouth broke away from his as she gasped in shock.  
  
Apparently at least one of his guesses had turned out to be right.  
  
"Do – that – again" Elizabeth breathed, nails digging into his biceps. He obliged, wringing a moan from her this time. Next came a whimper as he integrated something new, then another moan, three quick gasps, a muffled curse that would have scandalized him if he hadn't been so fixated on the way her muscles were clenching around his hand.  
  
She bit his shoulder and he stopped keeping track of the sounds she was making.  
  
When she was finished he repeated the exercise, this time using another part of his body to substitute for his fingers. By then, his wife had rendered herself hoarse – a good thing, as his ears were sure to split if they were subjected to any more abuse.  
  
It was going to be a long night.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Thanks for the feedback :) thalia: I've become quite addicted to pirategasm, and I will probably be posting my fics there sometime in the near future. FF.N can only go so far, after all. Thanks for reccing the Norrington community, I'll look there as well. 


	5. Heal

(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter)  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Many miles away, Will Turner, former blacksmith and betrothed of Elizabeth Swann, stood at the helm of the Black Pearl and gazed out at the dark waters of the Caribbean sea.  
  
"Mayhap certain first mates of certain famed pirate ships have found their duties lacking as of late," came a drawling voice from behind him, "but there are certain pirate captains who have a long day ahead and need their beauty sleep, savvy?"  
  
"I'm sorry," said Will without turning around. "I didn't mean to wake you."  
  
Jack Sparrow sighed. "You know I can't sleep when you get up to wander, lad." His lean arms went around Will's waist and tightened gingerly.  
  
Leaning back into his captain's embrace, Will replied, "I'll come back to bed in a minute."  
  
A coarse black mustache nuzzled at his cheek. "All will be forgiven if you'll tell me what's troubling you."   
  
"Nothing," Will insisted. "Just couldn't sleep, that's all."  
  
Jack held his tongue for a moment, but he could never last long at that. "You miss her, don't you?"  
  
"Miss who?" said Will, feigning ignorance and getting a pinch on the hip for his troubles. He was a terrible liar, and he knew it.  
  
"Your bonny lass, that's who."  
  
"I do miss Elizabeth. And I still feel guilty for leaving her."  
  
"She wanted you to, though," Jack reminded him gently. "She gave you her blessing. Don't forget that part."  
  
"I know," said Will. "But it's strange, to go so long without seeing her when she's been part of my life for years.  
  
One callused hand crept under Will's shirt to cover the freshly bleeding wound beneath his ribs. "This lovely needs a new bandage," Jack said. "Come inside and I'll do you up." As Will turned to follow him back to their cabin, he added nonchalantly over his shoulder, "Might as well pull into a port for a few days. You're not going to be much good to me anyhow, all cut up as you are."  
  
The injury twinged in protest as Will stepped quickly in front of Jack.   
  
"Jack," he warned, "it would be very unsafe to go to Port Royal. You know that."  
  
"Aye, I know it," said Jack with a conciliatory nod. "But I also know this: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, and I'm taking you home for a little while."  
  
Will smiled. "Grateful as I am," he murmured, kissing him, "this ship's home to me now. And you."  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. "Well of course the Pearl's my home, she's *my* ship." He ducked into the cabin before Will had a chance to correct him, which, Will thought, was really all for the best. Jack was not overly sentimental – at least, not until you could get him inebriated to a degree that would kill a small horse.  
  
They could definitely do to boost the Pearl's liquor supply while they were in Port Royal.  
  
~~~~~~~~ 


	6. Linger

(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter; line filched from "The Princess Bride")  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
"Shutters," Elizabeth mumbled, her lips tickling the inside of his elbow, "are my very best friends in all the world."  
  
Norrington smiled and adjusted his arms around her. "Oh?"  
  
"Yah," she said. "They're splendid. Shut out all the light."  
  
"They do that," he agreed, lifting her hair away from the back of her neck and dropping kisses on the exposed skin. She arched her back like a cat.  
  
"And then it's exactly like night," she reasoned dreamily, as if she had just discovered the secret meaning of life. "Because what is night except the dark? If there's no light, it's dark, and if it's dark, it's not morning."  
  
"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect."  
  
"Doesn't it just drive you wild with passion?" With a groan she turned towards him, squinting. "On second thought I pray that it doesn't, because I'm far too exhausted to indulge you."  
  
"You're not alone in that respect." Her eyes closed again as she snuggled contentedly up to him. It was exactly the sort of reception he'd been longing for, but it was morning, despite her blessing the shutters for making it night. "I have to get up," he told the ceiling. It didn't reply, though Elizabeth grumbled at him. "I really do."  
  
She sighed. "I know you do, James. So go. Shoo." Shoving at him, she turned over and curled up once more.  
  
"I have to work," he said.  
  
"Yes, that's very true."  
  
"People depend on me."  
  
"Of course they do. We all know Port Royal will crumble into the sea if Commodore James Norrington doesn't make an appearance every bloody day of the week. Can't have that, can we?"  
  
"Don't move," he whispered into her ear. Vaulting out of bed and into a dressing gown, he tracked down a maid in the hallway just outside the door.  
  
"Have a message sent to the fort," he said, loudly enough to be sure Elizabeth could hear him. "I will be spending the day abed with my wife." The young woman nodded, giving him a strange look as she no doubt wondered why he was shouting at her.  
  
Triumphantly he returned to Elizabeth's side, only to find that she was no longer there.  
  
"Elizabeth?" He had an irrational flashback to the day she'd fallen off the fort and he checked the window. It was open. "Elizabeth," he repeated in a much fainter voice as all the breath left his body.  
  
Just then she launched herself at him from her hiding place behind the armoire, knocking him onto the bed.  
  
"That," he said through gritted teeth, "was *not* amusing."  
  
"Oh, it was from my perspective," she chirped, straddling his hips and wiggling in a most distracting manner. He stifled a gasp and she grinned wickedly. "Hmmm," she purred. "It seems as though you aren't so exhausted as we thought."  
  
"Elizabeth –" he began, intending to scold her further for frightening him half out of his wits, but she caught his mouth with hers and silenced him.  
  
When they broke apart for breath, she murmured, kissing a path down his chest, "You brought this on yourself, you know."  
  
"All this activity," he said as she got her hands inside his robe, "cannot possibly be good for the baby."  
  
"There's no way it could see anything. And it's much too soon for you to start coddling me," she told him firmly before sucking a nipple in between her teeth.  
  
He was in no state to argue. And she had a point; he had brought this problem on himself, and it was up to him to take care of it. He proceeded to do just that, all morning long and well into the afternoon.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
The pilfered line was "Truly, you have a dizzying intellect," in case you missed it, and it belongs to William Goldman/Rob Reiner/Cary Elwes/etc. I hate doing stuff like that, but it was too perfect to pass up. 


	7. Navigate

(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter)  
  
WARNING: extremely short, dialogue-only, slightly out-of-character chapter follows this warning. Proceed at your own risk.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
"Jack."  
  
"Can't hear you, la la la la."  
  
"Will you just look at the map!"  
  
"I don't *need* to look at the bloody map! I've been sailing since you were in diapers, boy, all I need to navigate is a star in a clear sky."  
  
"It's daytime. There are no stars."  
  
"You're so much more alluring when you're quiet, you know."  
  
"Admit we're lost."  
  
"I will do no such thing, because we are not, in fact, lost. I know my way to Port Royal!"  
  
"You told me just last night that you were falling-down drunk when you sailed in its direction and it's a miracle you found a harbor at all before your stolen boat sank and took you with it to the bottom."  
  
"I say all kinds of stupid things when I'm in bed with you. It's your own damned fault, making me weak and nonsensical."  
  
"Please let Gibbs take over, Jack."  
  
"And admit defeat? Ha! The Pearl will tell me which way to sail, won't you my darling?"  
  
"It's very disturbing when you stroke the wheel like that. I'll just be in the cabin then, nursing my terrible gut-wound, without a shirt or perhaps even pants."  
  
"...Gibbs! To the helm, man! I can't be standing 'round here all day!"  
  
~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
